DOUBLE WIDE

by Jim Parnell

I'm in the Moodfor LoveOk. Now what.

As the seasons change and the thoughts of young people turn
to love, (well, maybe not love, but it's as good a word as any)
a certain scent is in the air. Fair breezes waft the petals from
the trees in a gentle snowfall of silken white and pink. A hazy sheen
hides the bulbous pistils and shuddering stamens, blushing delicately behind
the heavy musk of raw, unbridled vegetable passion!

Worf's Review -- Consider if you will, just how delicate a task
Jean-Luc Picard has doing Worf's review:

Picard:

Ah, come in, Mr. Worf. Please have a seat.

Worf:

I prefer to stand, sir.

Picard:

Very well, Worf. Hmmm. You know, it's not standard procedure
to arrive at your performance review in full Klingon armor and carrying
your battleth. Why, it's dripping blood all over the ready room!

Worf:

I know, sir. However, I have heard rumors that Starfleet
is giving very small raises this year, so I decided it would be better
for all concerned if I worked off my frustrations in the holodeck before
coming here. I also need the practice. (looks directly at Picard)
Just in case...

Picard:

Right. (looks with alarm at the review on his palm computer,
noting the paltry number on the bottom line)

Worf:

(significantly) I got lots of practice...

Picard:

I see. Well, Mr. Worf, I ... GOOD LORD!

Worf (bellows) :

PTAHKK !!!

(swings the battleth over his head and embeds the point in Picard's
mahogany desk)

Get ON with it, Captain! My hot Klingon blood is like,
all aboil with the battle-lust - Arrrr!

Picard:

Qu-quite right, Mr. Worf. Um, where was I, oh yes, right here.
(deftly punches the delete key on the review) Damn! I seem
to have deleted it; you'll have to come back later when I've had a chance
to reconstruct it. (smiles genially at Worf)

Worf:

(roars an unintelligible stream of Klingon curses, but then, all
Klingon sounds like curses) I will return, Captain.
You can find me in the holodeck, knee-deep in the blood of
my enemies, beheading admirals and disemboweling captains,
SIR!

(yanks the battleth up in a spray of splinters and stalks off)

Picard:

(hits comm-badge) Transporter room.

Jordy:

Yes, captain?

Picard:

Deep Space Six, Jordy. Mr. Worf.

Jordy:

Another one? (sighs) To hear is to obey, sir.
One Deep Six Special coming up. (beams Worf into space without a
pressure suit)

Picard:

(mutters to himself) Damn, I'm glad Jordy's last on my list.

NEXT!!!

Ah, well. TNG never did have quite the same comic potential
as the original recipe (sigh).

Dandelion Day -- A Lawn Maintenance Epic. (Guess who wrote
this one)

Alas, the grass - so green
Awash in pollenous spray
Weedy disarray
Unmowed for quite a while -
Hath growed the extra mile

The still morning air
Rent asunder - was that thunder?
Nay, a garage door opener
Releasing fetid breath
Of gas, oil, and chunder.

The war declared, the battle joined
Weeds to be hacked !
Chemically attacked !
The warrior doth scratch his loins.

And mounteth hard the tractor seat
Creaks and groans and creaks
Some more --
Mechanistic squeals of agony.

With a flourish, a gesture grand
Reacheth he for the tractor key
And shuts his eyes to better see
In his mind's eye,
The Dandelion's Final Stand.

The turn, the click,
Re-turn, re-click
(the sigh)

The tear that rolleth from the warrior's eye
Quickly dries, as meaning flies
To his thick and dimwitted head:
"Hey! I can go fishin' instead!"

Jim Parnell eats bugs for a living -- the ones that infest your computer.
Not having had proper discipline as a young child, he sees nothing wrong
with raising Bubba up as a role model, nay, a cult anti-hero, for the adoring
hordes of young whippersnappers who sneak off into the attic to read faded
printouts of Double Wide.